The Scouring of Siphon IV
by Pollardinator
Summary: When the Imperial world of Siphon IV comes under attack from a Tyranid Hive Fleet its citizens rally to defend it. And yet,as one squad amongst an army of millions soon finds out, war is never as simple as that. With ancient prophecy coming true and Space Marine task forces and Inquisition spies infesting the planet the war soon takes sinister and unexpected turns for the worse.
1. Prologue- Prelude to War

The Scouring of Siphon IV

By Pollardinator and Spaceman727

'_Deep beneath the halls of man, the Warrior begins to wake'_

_101101_

_Adeptus Terra Administratum Report 101010101010001_

_Produced on the Order of Lord Castellan Constantine and for his eyes only_

_Planetary Report- Siphon IV (Siphon System, Uhlis Sector)_

_Orbital Distance- 2.0 AU_

_Temp. 34 T.D (Terran Degrees- see attached chart 5C for details) (Summer Months), -9 T.D (Winter Months)_

_Climate-_

_The climate of Siphon IV, like its neighbour Siphon III (The only other habitable planet in the system- Siphon I and II being gas giants populated with a few dozen orbital mining platforms) has a fluctuating climate partially caused by the planet's irregular axis. (See attached ammendum 4E for Climate Survey Report). The 'summer' season is marked by warm temperatures and a climate more suited for a high yielding agri-world. The winter however, sees the temperature drop dramatically, near overnight, to lows of around -9, with snow and blizzards common. Native plants have adapted to this with a highly accurate and evolved hibernation system. Attempts to accurately plot these changes have been hampered by a simultaneous lack of interest by Imperial surveying groups and the fact that Siphon IV's predominant industries (Mining and heavy industry/refinement) are unaffected by climate fluctuations. Winters are harsh but bearable for the population- no further study needed._

_Designation- Mining-Class Hive World-_

_Despite its designation as a Hive World, Siphon IV only possesses one city- Hive City Polaris, a sprawling city of approximately 1000 square miles (Making it one of the smallest Hive Cities on record). The overwhelming majority of the planet's population, industry and government is based here. Besides a few hundred mining facilities and a dozen large towns, the planet is largely uninhabited, mainly due to a lack of any real resources beyond the area around Polaris and the fluctuating seasons making permanent settlement hazardous without direct transport and supply links._

_Hive City Polaris forms the economic, cultural and administrative heart of the planet, with its countless space ports, refineries, industrial plants and hab blocks forms a lone bastion of civilisation in a largely unexplored wilderness. The cities twenty major districts are each the size of a large city themselves, and each has a different specialisation (Trade, industry, habitation etc.). The city is unique amongst Hive Cities in that it is not entirely made up of the mile high towers that most consist of, and is mainly a sprawl of large scale hab blocks and industrial plants close to the ground. Only three city towers exist (Avaltine, Capitoline, Palatine), clustered around the city centre._

_Population- __estimates around 1 billion (Note- Census still underway)_

_Principal Exports- __Munitions, factory goods, processed metals, geodes, quarried stone, techno-grunge music_

_History- __The Siphon System was first colonised by the Imperium of Mankind approximately a thousand years ago. The primary reason for this was the discovery of one of the fabled 'Blackstone Fortress' space stations in orbit between Siphon III and IV. Although the exact nature (And connection to the six Blackstone Fortresses used and fought over by Battlefleet Gothic and the forces of Abaddon the Despoiler- see notes on 13__th__ Black Crusade- Document 188-K) of the space station is unknown, it remains an immensely powerful (Albeit stationary) weapon, and the primary base for Imperial Navy and Guard units in the system. Siphon III is primarily a garrison/mining world, but is without a doubt the inferior to Siphon IV. The countless deposits of high quality silver coloured metals throughout the planet's mines has led to significant investment in the planet, with the metal itself, dubbed 'Siphon-Silver' proving well suited to munitions, armour and construction. The fact the metal itself is unique to Siphon IV (With Siphon III mainly of interest due to the ancient xenos ruins in its southern reaches) means that both planets have a strong industrial, mining and military history. In recent years the defences of the system have received a vast overhaul under Lord Castellan Constantine, current commander of the systems military forces. In civilian news, the population has been steadily increasing over the past decade as more mines are established around new 'Siphon-Silver' deposits._

_Military Forces- _

_442__nd__ Imperial Guard Infantry Regiment 'The Silver Legion' based on Siphon IV_

_443 Imperial Guard Infantry Regiment based on Siphon III_

_Battlefleet Rubicon based on the Blackstone Fortress (Aurelius Base)_

_Blackstone Fortress- codenamed Aurelius Base_

_50 Orbital Defence Nova Cannon (25 currently under repair/refit orders and are inactive)_

_Ramielles Class Defence Station 'Divine Rampart'_

_Misc. Orbital Defence Lascannons/Torpedo Launchers_

_Titan Legion Gigantum (Currently deployed on training exercises on Siphon III)_

_Thought for the Day – __To better thyself in the eyes of thine Masters is reward enough_

_101101_

_Departmento Munitorum Squad Report- _

_Squad Pusillus, 5__th__ Platoon, 20__th__ Company, 7__th__ Battalion, 442__nd__ Imperial Guard Regiment-_

_Acting Squad Leader- Sergeant Thaddeus Cicero (50 Terran Years of age)_

Born on Siphon IV Prometheus Mining Platform

Notes:

Expert leader of small squad unit

Has shown exemplary bravery befitting a Guardsman many times (Earned Silver Cross medal for bravery four times)

Mr Cicero however shows certain troublesome and negative attitudes to authority figures and commanders (Recommend new leader be informed of this)

_Heavy Weapons Specialist- Guardsman Achilleus Lentinus (35 Terran Years of Age)_

Born in Hive City Polaris Manufacturing District D6

Notes

Despite no formal training Mr Lentinus has proven himself an able user of man portable heavy weapons, and as such is cleared for use of such weapons on the battlefield

Signs of depression/suicidal tendencies when faced with extreme stress (Recommend leave within next month to alleviate symptoms. If depression continues, refer Guardsman to Psych. Division)

Romantic relationship with Guardsman Fabiola Vestalis key element of squad morale and cohesion. The aforementioned relationship with Guardsman Vestalis also gives Lentinus a source of stability throughout his bouts of stress and depression.

_Designated Marksman- Guardsman Fabiola Vestalis (34 Terran Years of Age)_

Born in Hive City Hab Block 2334455A

Notes

Has set platoon record for marksmanship for the last five years- recommend using Guardsman alongside other sniper teams when not attached to own squad

Possible Ratling heritage on father's side of family may explain short stature and superior sniping abilities (No further study needed- skills in combat are paramount)

Some tension with Guardsman Strabo over personal differences but combat experience has created an unbreakable trust between the two soldiers.

Displays many physical tics and twitches. Often compulsive to the point of obsession over small factors. This is especially the case when setting up to shoot. However, these compulsions aid in halting her tics before shooting. Outside of combat, her compulsions can make her unpredictably violent or angry when things are not to her preference. Further psych. evaluation may be needed to help suppress violence when her compulsions are not met.

_Guardsman Paulus Strabo (40 Terran Years of Age)_

Born in Hive City Hab Block 3447889R

Notes

Displays almost suicidal desire for close quarters combat (Is near fanatical with use of bayonet and improvised weapons). Recommend monitoring of this aggression with routine medication (Except in battlefield situations- refer to Field Manual Page 455 for further details)

Family connection to Strabo mining dynasty hasn't affected military career (Has repeatedly turned down offers of promotion based on family donations to regimental coffers)

Poor eyesight (refuse to wear field issue spectacles or pay for eye treatment) may be reason for overreliance on close quarters combat

_Guardsman Sabia Calvus (27 Terran Years of Age)_

Born in Hive City Hab Block 6678821M

Notes

Ms. Calvus seems to function as unofficial 'peacemaker' of the squad, especially when tensions are running high.

Possible eligibility for officer corps or Psych. Division overlooked due to positive effect on squad

Twelve times champion of District 3344423 chess competition (May link to skilled tactical insight- may be in line for replacing Sgt. Cicero if needed)

_Captain Romulus Remus the Third (45 Terran Years of Age) - captain of 20__th__ Company_

Born in Hive City Hab Block 'Fiddler's Green' (One of the most prestigious hab blocks in the city)

Notes

Reckless disregard for direct orders from superior officers

Penchant for the dramatic and prefers to take personal glory

Unstable to the point of having a superiority complex (Family connections prevent disciplinary action)

_Squad Transfer Request from Department Munitorum Office on Siphon III (Hive City Cepheid) _

_Lieutenant Alexandra Komenos _(30 Terran Years of Age)

Born in Hive City Cepheid Hellenistic Ward

Notes

Formerly pursued a career as propaganda icon and model/pin up girl for regimental posters

Military career began during 'Children of Koine' Chaos mutiny on battlecruiser '_Achilles'_ when Ms. Komenos rallied surviving loyal forces aboard the cruiser to fight back against Chaos influenced mutineers. Leadership skills allowed quick promotion during career.

Ideal transfer for Squad Pusillus (Base new platoon around squad if trial period goes well)

101101

_Aurelius Base Blackstone Fortress _

_Orbit over Siphon IV_

_23:45 Local Time_

The Adeptus scribe leafed through the crisp white sheets of the report before him, skimming its contents quickly through his tinted spectacles and turning to his colleague as he finished.

"Adept Novars!" he said in an annoyed tone, absently pushing his spectacles up his nose in frustration as his colleague slowly turned his chair to stare across the tiny room at him. "Why is this squad transfer report mixed in with the planetary report?"

Adept Novars, a squat and plump man with a shock of black hair, his grey Adeptus robes streaked with coffee stains and breadcrumbs, sighed as he took the report from his colleague. In direct contrast to Novars, Adept Plebus was tall and almost unnaturally thin, his pinched face and sour expression giving him the appearance of a scavenger bird. Yet again pushing his spectacles further up his nose with one bony finger, Plebus nodded at the stack of papers he had just given to Novars.

"I was just compiling the new planetary report for Adept Tacitus when I noticed that this squad transfer report for…Squad Pusillus, I think it was, mixed in with it?"

"Don't look at me," Novars replied with a shrug. "This isn't even our department. I thought the Munitorum scribes over on the Triarch Arm were responsible for this?"

Plebus didn't look the least bit impressed with his companion's report, but only nodded in agreement. For a second his eyes lingered over the tiny cramped cabin they shared, the four metres square box of riveted metal and rusted iron that was their shared office, bedroom and general recreation area aboard the massive Aurelius Base. The high ceiling was stacked with shelf after shelf of crisp white sheets of statistics and reports, while a tiny ladder against the far wall was the only way the two men could ascend to their bunks bolted into the roof three metres above their heads.

The only nod to luxury in the cramped space was the tiny circular porthole in the wall opposite the door, which, through ten metres of Imperial naval armour and the strange obsidian-like metal the Blackstone Fortress itself was constructed of, one could just see the grey form of Siphon IV far below.

"Do you ever wish we had a bigger window, Novars?" the thin Adept asked as his colleague methodically separated out the planetary report and squad transfer sheet he had just read.

"You know the rules. Can't have anything larger than a foot by a foot or else we risk leaving a weak spot for enemy fire. Besides, it took a near point blank shot from a ship mounted lance cannon to make that hole. This old space station doesn't exactly make it easy for the enginseers to add our own modifications. Do you remember how hard it was for them to blast out space for the hangars and defence batteries?"

"I remember the paperwork," Plebus said simply, before turning back to his blank steel desk, unadorned except for a small paperweight in the shape of the Aquila, and a small box of lead pencils and pens. "Sometimes I think this damn space station is more trouble than its worth. I mean, have you seen the files on how much raw material and money was poured into actually making this floating junk pile work?"

Novars shrugged noncommittally. "It doesn't matter. We are just Adepts of the Administratum. It's not our place to question command. Anyway…" he added, standing up and, shuffling awkwardly across the tiny amount of floor space in the cramped room, opening the small vacuum tube port on the wall. "I should send these reports to the right offices."

"Wait a second," Plebus snapped. "Send the squad transfer report over to the Triarch Arm. I'll get this planetary report straight up to the command bridge."

Novars laughed slightly. "The command bridge? You do know how much clearance you need to get in there? Adept Briars four doors down has been on a waiting list for a week now!"

"Trust me. I can get in. I have a Priority One clearance form…" Plebus added with a slight smirk, reaching into his grey robes and withdrawing a small paper form, marked with a bright red stamp and wax seal depicting the Imperial Aquila."

"How did you…?"

"Let's just say Adepta Tehranna owed me a favour. I can get a tram there as soon as…"

"Wait, wait wait…" Novars said with a frown, holding up an ink stained hand. "I am the senior Adept here. I should be the one who takes the report to the bridge."

"Under whose authority?"

"I've been an Adept precisely four months, three days and twelve hours longer than you." Novars replied shortly. "My robe is greyer than yours, I passed the monthly examination with two more points…"

"And you have an ego the size of a Reaver Titan." His companion said with a smirk before making for the day, snatching the report from the dumbfounded Novars' hand with a laugh and waving it, and the Priority One form, with all the pride of a Space Marine standard bearer.

"Well…have a fun hour long tram ride across the station!" Novars shouted futilely after Plebus and, as the door shut after his colleague, sighed and returned to his seat, realizing he was only halfway through a fifteen hour shift, and wouldn't have anyone to talk to for at least another five hours.

000000

It took Plebus ten minutes of walking down dank iron walled corridors and up rickety riveted staircases and ladders to reach the main tram station for Aurelian Base's Pincian Arm, one of the four 'arms' of the vast space station. The Blackstone fortress itself was huge, its four main hangars big enough to dock a Lunar class Imperial cruiser while the gun batteries along its length could take out whole enemy fleets in one thundering broadside.

Stepping aboard the tram, a riveted box of iron and sheet metal filled with rows of metal benches, Plebus allowed himself a moment to relax. It was at least another ten hours until he could eat his breakfast, a nutritionally balanced bowl of algae that was sent in tins via vacuum tube, and this was the closet he got to a break.

The rest of the tram was filling up fast, mainly with other Administratum adepts in robes ranging from the dull black of recent initiates to the dazzling white of overseers and senior managers. But, here and there in the sea of monochrome, there were a few other people. The largest group was a small huddle of Menials- the labourers and general workers of the Administratum- in black overalls at the other end of the tram, overseen by a haughty female Adepta in grey robes. But there were also a few Imperial Guardsman in the black uniforms and flak jackets of marines, as well as a red robed Enginseer with two Skitarri- the Administratum's equivalent of Guardsmen- sat on each side. The Enginseer was deep in thought, scribbling notes on a large roll of paper with one pale hand while the other, a mechanical claw, absently tinkered with the third mechanical arm that held the paper aloft.

After a near robotic sounding droning over the intercom from the trams bored sounding Menial driver, the vehicle shuddered then began clattering down the iron track. The black walls of the tunnel they descended into were the same as the material the rest of the Fortress was originally built from, and Plebus noted with a frown that the Enginseers hadn't bothered to sheath this particular section in iron plating like the vast majority of the station's interior.

He shook his head. Such ideas weren't his area to pry into. 'Better to trust in your superiors' was the motto he had learnt back at the academy, and he and Novars had kept to that philosophy as much as they could. To amuse himself as the tram kept monotonously moving onward, he leafed through the planetary report again. How they had ended up with that unrelated report on that Imperial Guard squad was beyond him. Probably a mix up in the vacuum tubes again. The Ratling labourers, the short 'abhumans' who had been brought in to work on the vacuum tube system, had been on strike for a day now, and even when their leader was thrown out an airlock yesterday they still refused to keep working.

He looked out the plastic window and sighed. The monotonous row of fluorescent lights did nothing to lighten his mood, and he turned away as a massive supply train, an ugly yellow block with a cargo of ten metre long torpedoes on long carriages for the station's battery of _Imperator_ class heavy guns, thundered past, gangs of servitors and Menials leaning off the sides.

Suddenly the train clattered to an abrupt halt, and Plebus stood up, staring out the plastic window of the driver's cab at the front of the tram. Up ahead loomed one of the Fortress' infamous 'Black Doors', the armoured constructions made of the same black metal as the rest of the space station. The doors were almost ridiculously heavily armoured. He had seen maintenance reports on how even high-powered construction lasers still took hours to carve through them, and they were also prone to frequent glitches and failures to open or close. They were an annoyance at the moment but Plebus had a fear that someday the doors might actually become a big problem, especially if the station were to be attacked.

As he thought about the theories he had heard about the station's origins, a deep rumbling mechanical voice filled the cabin, a voice definitely not human.

"_I am the watcher in the blackness of space. I see all. The prides and kingdoms of all races are but fleeting memories for one as ancient as I. When the stars begin to die and all mortal races are piles of ash and dust, I will endure. Deep beneath the halls of man, the Warrior begins to wake."_

Sighing, the Adept settled back into his seat, a bored expression on his haggard face. He had heard the strange voices of the Black Doors before. Everyone had. Sometimes the voices would cut in during an announcement or a break in the newsreels. Sometimes it would just be a few words while he was sleeping, as if the station was whispering in his ear. Novars was slightly scared of the voices, but Plebus had learnt to ignore them. So long as the voices weren't Chaos daemons trying to tempt him, he would just continue to put up with them. Further up the carriage one of the Skitarri looked at his Enginseer master through eyes covered by thick black goggles, but his face paling slightly.

"Master Enginseer, what is the Door talking about?"

The Enginseer turned his thin face, his right eye a small cybernetic implant that whirred softly, turning to look at the Skitarri.

"Nothing. Nothing at all. The machine-spirit of this battle station is millennia old. Of course it's going to go a bit senile in its old age. We've pored over this things workings for decades and found no problems. So long as we still have oxygen and light, why should a few mad proverbs be a problem?"

As he said this the door up ahead opened with a dull clatter of metal and the tram continued onward.

"Piece of junk…" Plebus heard a Menial further down the tram mutter under his breath as they passed through the open Black Door and, Plebus thought with a slight smile, he had to agree with him.

000000

An hour later-and after hearing another Black Door spouting nonsense- Plebus emerged through a side door into the cavernous main room of the command bridge.

The bridge was situated at the very tip of the black pyramid at the centre of the Blackstone Fortress' four arms, its walls made out of hundreds of interlocking hexagonal plates of a strange black glass. Despite looking as thin and fragile as plastic, the black glass was surprisingly armoured and, Plebus thought to himself, if it was so fragile command wouldn't have even considered putting the bridge at the tip of the pyramid.

The Adept felt as small as an insect as he stood on the main floor of the bridge, the room sprawling out for hundreds of metres in all directions, dozens of individual catwalks and maintenance walkways, as well as miles of pipes and ducts, criss-crossing in a mad pattern far above his head.

At the very centre of the huge room, looking out over the ocean of computer consoles and bridge staff milling about clutching reports and reports, was a large platform of glass and steel, the four staircases leading to it each guarded by a full squad of black uniformed marines. Atop the command platform stood the main commanders and senior staff aboard the station, and it was there that Plebus needed to get to.

Walking nervously forward, Plebus was hit by a strange sense of agoraphobia as he walked down the wide central aisle towards. Besides the large manufactorums in the Gothic Arm and the various ship hangars at the edges of the station, the majority of the fortress was very cramped and confined. Plebus almost liked being in such close environments. It felt safe and secure. Here he felt out in the open and vulnerable.

As he reached the staircase to the command platform, the sergeant of the marine squad raised a hand while the others moved to block his path.

"Halt. State your business, Adept."

Plebus took a deep breath. He was unused to the world beyond his cubicle, the way that non-Munitorum bureaucrats worked. However he did know his way around Imperial protocol.

"I have an urgent report for High Command," he said shortly, brandishing the Priority One clearance form. "It's the report on the system that Lord Castellan Constantine requested."

At the mention of the Lord Castellan's name, and the sight of the official looking priority clearance form, the marine's sergeant quickly relented, nodding and offering a curt salute as his men parted.

"Of course, Adept. I expect the Lord Castellan will be most pleased"

Smiling inwardly, Plebus walked past the Marines and ascend the steel riveted stairs, noticing for the first time the sight of the most powerful men and women in the Siphon system.

The most obvious was Adept Benaris, the head of the Administratum in the system, a thin and bony looking old man swathed in a bright white robe, two servo skulls- the cybernetic skulls of loyal Administratum agents preserved as faithful servants after death- hovering at his side. Next to him stood High Enginseer Vinci, a small shrunken man made to look larger by the various cybernetic claws protruding from the back of his robes, standing next to Lord Admiral Thrax, leader of Battlefleet Rubicon, a cold but beautiful looking woman with dark skin and garbed in an immaculate dress uniform. At the edge of the small group stood Primaris Theodora, the Lord Castellan's personal Sanctioned Pysker, latent psychic energy collecting around the tip of her silver staff and at the edges of her short black hair, while tiny bolts of lightning crackled across her long overcoat and ceremonial armour.

And yet, even amongst the gaggle of aides, scribes and other members of the commander's retinue, the Lord Castellan stood out. Constantine was a tall man, his curly hair grey and his beard trimmed to a fine point while his dark green and tan dress uniform and overcoat were clean and pressed. From his well-polished black jackboots and elegant but deadly powersword in a sheath at his side to the brace of medals across his jacket, the Lord Castellan was obviously a very powerful and seasoned commander. So when he turned to Adept Plebus, a slight grin on his face, breaking off an in depth conversation with Lord Admiral Thrax, the lowly Adept nearly fainted with surprise.

"What do you need Adept?" he asked, politely but briskly and for a second Plebus was blank.

"We have important matters to discuss. Out with it!" Thrax added, but Constantine silenced her with a simple raised hand.

"I-I have a report for you sir." Plebus said quickly, bowing and snapping off a salute simultaneously and looking ridiculous in the process.

Constantine took the report from the shaking Adept without another word, scanning it briefly before smiling.

"Good work. It takes some bravery to approach your superiors like this, Adept. The least I can do is let you linger here for a bit." He added with a sly grin, then pointed out at the vast blackness of space beyond, the grey form of Siphon IV, wreathed in white cloud, looming to the right.

"We seem so far away from the planet don't we?" Constantine said with a slight smile. "Siphon III is just a blob of green…" he added, pointing with one thin finger at the distant form of Siphon III, the orbital defences and shipyards in its orbit just visible as tiny spots of light.

"It's…impressive." Plebus muttered agreeably, staring out at the vast space beyond. "I'm guessing that light is the Divine Rampart station?" he asked, pointing a trembling finger at a bright pinprick just visible on the far side of Siphon IV.

"Indeed. My second in command, Castellan Augustus, is commanding that station. Between there and Aurelius Base, you should be able to see the rest of our defences."

He shifted his outstretched hand to gesture at the dozens of grey floating rocks that were the orbital defence Nova Cannons. Built into the giant asteroids that had been ensnared by Siphon IV's gravity, the guns were vast constructions, their barrels hundreds of metres long and each possessing enough power to knock out a cruiser in one hit.

"With all due respect sir, I've read the reports. Why are you showing me all this?"

Constantine grinned. "It's always good to see them in person, Adept. You bureaucrats tend to forget that all the numbers and lines on your charts are actual people and objects. I mean, take Battlefleet Rubicon…" he said, pointing at the silent armoured forms of the Battlefleet, the vast ships hovering countless miles away from the space station, yet close enough to pick out details on their hulls.

"You bureaucrats could probably tell me how many ships there are, how big the crew is, that kind of thing. High Enginseer Vinci could talk to me for hours on their weapons systems and how their Warp drives work. And of course Lord Admiral Thrax here could tell me of all the battles and great campaigns the ships have fought in."

As he said this he turned to Thrax and smiled, the admiral simply nodding curtly in response.

Spreading his arms wide the Lord Castellan looked out at the fleet beyond.

"I look at the big picture Adept! Not only this station, or that fleet out there, but the Imperial Guard regiments on the ground, the individual soldiers and units ready to protect our sacred soil. I have to know all of them. Its-it's a big responsibility." He said with a frown, and looked ready to speak again when another figure shambled over and touched him lightly on the arm.

The figure's robes were a deep red, worn and slightly ragged, as if the owner didn't care much about their appearance, with the hood up. Their hands meanwhile were pale and wrinkled with long nails, clutching a large carved staff with an Aquila crest atop it.

Plebus recognised the man as an Astropath, the powerful Pyskers who, despite lacking most of their senses and being fully blind, were able to send messages across millions of miles of space using nothing but their own psychic ability.

The Astropath looked to be about to speak when suddenly he threw his head back, his hood flying off to reveal a scarred and worn face, deathly pale, with empty sockets where his eyes should have been. Convulsing as if he was in pain, the Astropath collapsed to the floor with a crack of bone on the hard steel, gasps of astonishment issuing from the gathered onlookers.

"We need a medical team, now!" the Lord Castellan roared as two Marines ran over and tried to revive the Astropath. Instantly Primaris Theodora stepped forwards, shoving the Marines aside and examining the non-moving Astropath herself. As she stepped towards him the Astropath began babbling and screaming in an incomprehensible alien tongue, his anguished cries echoing across the massive space of the bridge.

"What's wrong with him?" Constantine snapped, and Theodora stared at the screaming Astropath with wide eyes before, with no warning, the man suddenly fell silent and lay still. Quickly examining him, Theodora looked up, shaking her head.

"He's dead," Theodora said bluntly "Must have been a massive psychic attack, especially to overwhelm his own mental barriers like that. I didn't even feel a thing so, whatever did this, they knew exactly who to target, and had the power to be subtle about it."

"What should we do Castellan?" High Enginseer Vinci demanded, all the other commanders asking similar questions as the Lord Castellan just stood there, staring out at the void of space beyond.

Finally he, without taking his eyes off the view beyond, said simply, in a voice that was equal parts unsure and afraid.

"This…this is something new."

Plebus looked out at where the Lord Castellan was looking and, as he saw what was out there, he felt his blood chill, his whole body tense up, and a warm trickle of liquid down the hem of his robe.

Out there, in the void beyond the orbiting Battlefleet and defences, past the dead gas giants of Siphon I and II, was a shadow even darker than the blackness of space around it. It moved quickly across space, bearing down upon the planets below, filling up the entire view beyond with a rolling cloud of indistinct shapes and half glimpsed forms.

And, in the centre of the thousands of miles wide shadow, something was moving.


	2. Chapter 1- The Shadow in the Warp

_"__There is a cancer eating at the Imperium. With each decade it advances deeper, leaving drained, dead worlds in its wake. This horror, this abomination, has thought and purpose which functions on an unimaginable, galactic scale and all we can do is try to stop the swarms of bio-engineered monsters it unleashes upon us by instinct. We have given the horror a name to salve our fears; we call it the Tyranid race, but if it is aware of us at all it must know us only as Prey.__"_

— Inquisitor Czevak

_Aurelius Base Blackstone Fortress _

_Orbit over Siphon IV_

_1:30am Local Time_

Plebus watched the scene unfolding with growing horror. He didn't understand a word anyone was saying. This wasn't his world. His world was cold statistics and boring monotony. This whole situation was completely alien to him.

"We're getting disturbances in the Warp readings, sir!" shouted a technician from nearby, and the Lord Castellan's face hardened and he closed his eyes for a second, evidently deep in thought, then started snapping off orders.

"Thrax, I want the fleet in battle formation immediately! Vinci, get your techs on the orbital defence guns to bring them all online. Including the ones under maintenance!"

"Sir, isn't this a bit heavy handed-"Thrax began, but Constantine cut her off.

"Don't question my orders Admiral. If there's even the slightest chance of this system being under threat, I want to be ready. If the forces of Chaos or some Dark Eldar raiders want to attack us and kill my men, I'm not willing to give them any advantage. Now, get the _Hand of the Emperor_ and the _Divine Rampart _to execute Order 547. I want any enemy warships to be met with nothing but a hail of las cannons and Nova blasts. Keep all weapons aimed on whatever is in that cloud!"

As he said this and the bridge erupted into a flurry of activity, Plebus was left in the centre of it all with no idea of what he was meant to do.

He stared out at the blackness of space beyond, watching as the green and grey forms of Lunar Class cruisers and Exorcist class Grand Cruisers all began moving into position to defend the planets below them. And at the centre of it all was the silent form of the Retribution Class Battleship, the _Hand of the Emperor, _eight kilometres of armour plating, torpedo tubes and weapons batteries from the cathedral like aft castle at the rear to the armoured prow at the front.

As the other ships, that resembled mere toys next to the huge vessel, moved into position around it, the _Hand of the Emperor _began turning slightly, ready to fire a punishing broadside at any attackers.

Adept Plebus was the only one not doing anything on the bridge, so he was the only one to witness what happened next.

For a second there was nothing out in the dark mass of space in front of the Imperial Battlefleet then, with the eerie silence that enveloped all of space, he saw dark shadows beginning to move in the space beyond, moving headlong at an insanely fast pace, breaking off from the cloud of blackness that had appeared out of nowhere.

Suddenly those objects broke through the veil of darkness and into view.

At least two hundred fleshy masses that resembled star ships, ranging from kilometres long to the size of a cruiser, all of them the same strange fleshy white and pink colour, with what looked like bones and cords of muscle instead of support columns and rivets.

"That's impossible!" someone shouted from the far side of the room as it appeared that everyone in the room was, in addition to frantically working at their tasks, trying to watch the strange enemy fleet now heading straight for them.

"How long until they're in weapons range?" Constantine demanded off a nearby technician as he stared out at the division of men and women responsible for the station's weapons control.

Plebus didn't hear the reply. He was rooted to the spot, watching as the strange biological ships moved across the void and the hundred metre long claws and scythe like appendages slid into position. At the centre of the fleet was visible one ship, at least the same size as the _Hand of the Emperor_, its prow taken up by a mass of writhing tentacles and claws. As Plebus watched parts of its massive fleshy sides opened and disgorged what looked like a swarm of tiny lights.

"They're launching fighters sir! Or at least, our readings are classifying them as fighters." came the report from a nearby technician and Constantine nodded.

"Whatever these…things, are, I want them to be met with nothing but righteous fire!" the Lord Castellan shouted back. "Get Castellan Augustus on the vox. Seems he's taken command of the Hand of the Emperor. I want the fleet in position and ready to repel these Emperor-damned monsters!"

000000

_The Hand of the Emperor_

_Battlefleet Rubicon_

_Orbit over Siphon IV_

_1:45 am Local Time_

"Sir, we have an urgent message from Lord Castellan Constantine! Priority One!"

Castellan Augustus nodded at the junior officer who stood before him, the young man snapping off a firm salute at his superior as behind him the rest of the vast battleship's bridge filled with frantic activity.

Gripping the steel railing of the command platform that he stood on, and that gave him a perfect view of the cavernous bridge beyond, Augustus nodded quickly and snapped off an order.

"Lieutenant Irina! Patch through the Lord Castellan. Put it on the speakers."

The communications officer saluted and, as she tapped out a command onto her console, the Lord Castellan's authoritative voice crackled through the speakers, echoing across the command bridge.

"Castellan Augustus!"

"I'm here sir. Awaiting orders!" he said, saluting with one large hand out of instinct.

"I need the fleet to intercept whatever this enemy force is. Execute Defence Pattern Omega. Both Aurelius' Base and the Divine Rampart will be providing fire support."

"Understood sir." Augustus replied quickly, and the Lord Castellan cut the link abruptly. Constantine had never been one to waste time when a battle was afoot.

"Bring the ship around!" he shouted out over the bridge "Ready all weapons batteries and spool up the Nova Cannon. We're going to end this war before it begins."

000000

The Imperial fleet began moving into battle formation, the Hand of the Emperor at the centre, its side thrusters ready to put it into position to fire off a shot from its Nova Cannon mounted on the prow, or pound the enemy with a punishing broadside of torpedoes.

On either side its escort ships moved to cover it from all directions, while the _Emperor_ Class battleships on the flanks began launching dozens of squadrons of Fury Interceptor fighters and Starhawk heavy bombers and the other ships of the fleet readied their heavy weapons batteries. In the distance the Blackstone Fortress' weapons came online, gun ports all along each of its four arms opening up to reveal hundreds of missile launchers and las cannons and, coming around from its opposite orbit of Siphon IV, the Divine Rampart readied itself for battle. The star shaped floating fortress released swarms of interceptor fighters and the countless las weapons and macro cannons along its armoured sides began to power up; the machine spirits and dozens of human operators within each one already calculating firing solutions.

The enemy fleet of bio-ships didn't slow down or begin forming their own gun line, instead barrelling straight onward, disgorging more and more of the strange fighters that Plebus and the men aboard Aurelius Base had already seen.

If they had been able to see them up close, the Imperials would have seen that the things issuing from the sides of the bio ships were like no fighter they had ever encountered before.

These were not the bulky armoured forms of Chaos Space Marine drop ships, or the elegant smooth lines of Eldar star fighters.

These were living beings.

Each creature was the size of a Thunderbolt fighter, a nightmarish creature composed of a bone white exoskeleton and ridges of pink muscle with a blade shaped head crowned with purple spikes, their malevolent yellow eyes nothing but pools of primal fury. Each of the monsters was kept aloft by a huge set of leathery wings, with which they somehow managed to navigate the vacuum of deep space.

Their true name was non-existent, their master did not care for such personal touches. Their species was not of this galaxy- a blight that had already devoured its way across countless other systems and planets. The Eldar called them 'The Curse of the Old Ones', the Tau, 'The Long Night of Torment'. The Imperium had a much simpler name for them.

Tyranids.

These particular creatures, evolved specifically to withstand the vacuum of space, were known to Imperial databases as Hive Crones. And they grouped together in swarms of thousands as the Tyranid bio fleet moved unstoppably closer to the Imperial battlelines.

As thousands of Imperial crewmen aboard the waiting Battlefleet made last minute changes to their weapons systems or huddled in frantic prayer to the God-Emperor, the Tyranid fleet, instead of spreading out to face the Imperial's gunline, began to clump together. Hundreds of bio ships of all shapes and sizes all formed a protective sphere around the largest ship in the fleet, any gaps patrolled by swarms of Hive Crones and other nightmarish flying creatures.

On the Imperial side, with no fanfare except an order sent simultaneously to every ship's captain in the fleet, the Imperial ships opened fire.

The broadside was of a titanic scale, thousands of torpedoes and bolts of las fire spiralling and corkscrewing across the innumerable miles of empty space between the two fleets. Had the battle been in an atmosphere the noise would have been enough to shatter buildings and crack the earth but out here, in space, the thundering roar of torpedoes and the crackle of las weaponry was non-existent. Nothing but an eerie silence filled the void of space.

And the ships kept firing as the cruiser squadrons on the flanks began moving around in a pincer movement to ensnare the Tyranid fleet, firing off salvo after salvo of high explosive torpedoes and dazzling beams of las fire into the clustered enemy ships.

The bio ships, lacking the advanced void shields or heavy armour of other races fleets, were torn apart by the bombardment. Dozens of bio ships and hundreds of support creatures were ripped apart by las fire or torn to shreds in the devastating explosions of torpedoes and high velocity shells. From the Imperial Battlefleet, and the surface of the planets far below, it looked like a cosmic fireworks show as white hot explosions and shreds of biological matter flew around in the cold vacuum.

And at the very centre of the Imperial gunline, the _Hand of the Emperor_ reaped a deadly tally. Continuing its thundering broadside as its starboard thrusters pushed it closer to the slowly dying Tyranid fleet, its escort ships at its side, the mighty battleship rumbled ever closer.

000000

On the command bridge there was no celebration or satisfaction amongst the crewmen at the storm of fire pounding the enemy fleet. Castellan Augustus gripped the steel railing of the command platform so hard his veins bulged out like cords of wire, his face set in a grim frown.

"Gunnery Chief!" he called out across the huge space. "Get me a firing solution on the centre of the enemy fleet."

He could see even with his own eyes that the enemy were being torn apart. And yet, from what the long range scanners and telescopes were showing, these were nothing, just cannon fodder. The capital ship, if this fleet had one, was in the centre of the spherical formation they had formed.

"Arm Damocles torpedo pods twenty to four hundred on the starboard side! Have all standard ordinance replaced with nuclear warheads" he added, then turned to the helmsman, a portly older officer sat at a complex looking control console in the centre of the command platform. "Helmsman! As soon as all batteries have fired, bring the ship around in a ninety degree angle bearing north!"

The helmsman nodded quickly and replied. "Readying all portside auxiliary thrusters."

"Can you do it helmsman?" The castellan demanded, and the officer nodded, mire confidently this time.

"Good!" he exclaimed, then turned his gaze back to the Gunnery Chief. "I want the command sent to the Nova Cannon Crew. I don't care what Mechanicum rituals or Imperial prayers they have to say but I want that damn gun ready to fire as soon as the broadside has punched a hole through the enemy fleet!"

He pointed one fat finger out at the blackness of space visible through the bridge's huge front windows, his large face seeming to leap up and down as he shouted.

We are going to tear this fleet apart!"

000000

By now the Tyranid fleet was bunched up tight into its spherical formation, the shadowy cloud it had emerged from now too far for any kind of retreat. And already the Imperials were beginning to close the net.

Riding forth on plumes of white hot thrusters, the Imperial battleships _Heretic's Bane _and _Sword of Righteous Fury, along_ with two dozen escort cruisers and squadrons of Thunderbolt fighters, moved to cut off the bio ships, continuing to unleash salvo after salvo of torpedoes and missiles into the rapidly diminishing biological shield around the fleet's centre.

As they came up behind the Tyranid fleet, Captain Katari, commander of the _Heretics Bane, after_ ordering another devastating attack run by his ship's escorts, immediately radioed through to the _Hand of the Emperor _with two simple words.

"In position."

Castellan Augusts rubbed his hands together gleefully as the communications officer relayed the word from the _Heretic's Bane_.

"Nova Cannon primed and ready, sir!" came a shout from the Gunnery Chief, and the castellan's grin widened even further.

"Ready the starboard batteries!" he bellowed, and kept his eyes glued to the screen to his left, showing a slightly grainy view of the fleshy bio ships of the Tyranids, which had stopped entirely and drifted through space, still being pounded from all sides by the unrelenting Imperial assault.

000000

Within the heart of the Tyranid fleet, within the largest of the ships, a monstrously large construction of pure white bone and purple muscle, hundreds of tentacles as long as an Imperial cruiser protruding from its prow, the mind of the invasion force bided its time.

The Hive Mind observed the destruction of the fleet around the ship that a tiny portion of it inhabited with only the faintest of interest. All across the galaxy similar invasion fleets were drifting through space, some away from worlds picked clean of life, others towards new harvests. The unfathomable mind behind the Tyranids had diverted the smallest amount of its vast intelligence and tactical knowledge, gathered from countless conquests and battles, both victories and defeats, to this attack. As the hundreds of ships that formed the main bio ship's shield were torn apart by the Imperial bombardment, the Hive Mind bided its time, focusing its mental eye out beyond the dying fleet towards the Imperial Battlefleet.

And, for a second, the Hive Mind took it all in, the wall of warships arrayed against it, the orbital defence systems behind the fleet and the two space stations already drifting in to reinforce their comrades. If the Hive Mind was to have any chance of victory, it would have to act soon.

With a sudden blaze of light, the Imperial flagship opened up once more, sending out another volley of missiles. But these ones were different. In the milliseconds before the missiles struck, the Hive Mind had already analysed the weapons, catalogued their munitions type and battlefield effectiveness for future reference and, after taking a brief break to lay the last of its counter plans, readied its fleet for action.

The missiles struck the front of the bio ship defensive formation full on, obliterating two dozen vessels instantly in a series of strikingly beautiful but deadly explosions. Whereas in an atmosphere a nuclear explosion would have created a mushroom cloud, here the missiles detonated into blindingly bright spheres of white and blue light. For a few seconds they burnt like miniature suns as they ripped apart the Tyranid vanguard in a series of hundreds of explosions before, as quickly as they had appeared, the nuclear detonations disappeared, leaving melted ship remains and a cloud of debris in their wake.

The Hive Fleet was already moving to plug the gap when the _Hand of the Emperor_ executed a perfect ninety degree turn, its portside thrusters burning out as they swung the mighty ship into position. Just as the battleship lined itself up on a direct course with the Tyranid fleet, it let off a single shot from its Nova Cannon.

The superheated projectile, little more than a ball of high explosives the size of a factory building, roared through space at a fraction of the speed of light, rocketing straight towards the gap in the Tyranid fleet.

And, for the fraction of a millisecond it took for the shot to reach its target, the Hive Mind had already calculated a response.

The Nova Cannon shell tore up the distance to the Tyranid fleet nearly instantly and, just as it was about to hit the flagship, at a speed that no non mechanical eye could even register, the Tyranid bio ship did something that no one would have ever expected.

It split apart.

Ripping itself in two the bio ship let the deadly Nova Cannon shell pass straight through it, through a hole in the fleet it had left open for the past five seconds- almost too long for the Hive Mind's super-fast mind- and soared out in to empty space, the Hive Ship reforming instantly now the danger had passed.

On the other side of the still intact Tyranid fleet, Captain Katari of the _Heretic's Bane_ didn't even have time to question what his brain thought he had seen, before the Nova Cannon shot sailed past.

And, at that exact second, a Tyranid interceptor ship, little more than a crude construction of flesh and bony spikes, soared alongside the Nova Cannon shell, somehow able to keep up with its speed and, in the blink of an eye, placed itself directly in the projectile's path.

The explosion of the Nova Cannon projectile as it struck the interceptor bio ship was more powerful than a hundred plasma torpedoes detonating simultaneously, and the expanding blast was enough to engulf the _Heretic's Bane_ instantly. The mighty battleship began to list to one side as the wall of explosive force ripped through it, shearing whole decks apart, exploding the countless rounds of ammunition and explosives within the ship, and consuming the entirety of the ship in a heartbeat. It's escorts, bunched up under the now deceased Captain Katari's orders to maximise firepower, were already engaging thrusters and auxiliary engines to escape when the _Heretic's Bane _ itself exploded, the reactors and magazines on-board all going up in one blazing sphere of light. None of the ships escaped the fiery blast though. The small Lunar Class cruisers and support ships were literally wiped from existence or melted into unrecognisable hulks of armour and metal in seconds.

The _Sword of Righteous Fury _had just enough time to begin to make a break for empty space when a piece of melted wreckage from the debris field that had once been the _Heretic's Bane _ploughed straight into it, ripping through its armour plating as if it was plastic, cutting the command bridge in two before ramming straight into the exposed form of the main reactor.

By the time the _Sword of Righteous Fury _and its own escorts had died a fiery death, the Tyranid Fleet had already reformed itself into a new battle line.

The whole sequence of events, from the firing of the flagship's Nova Cannon to the destruction of the _Sword of Righteous Fury_, had taken less than ten seconds.

000000

The only response on the command bridge of the _Hand of the Emperor_ was a stunned silence from everyone present. As far as they could see, the Nova Cannon shot had passed straight through the Tyranid fleet and exploded on the other side. The only sign of the destruction of the encircling cruiser fleet was a high pitched beep as the two battleships and their escorts winked from existence on the central map table behind the helmsman's console.

"W-what just happened?!" Augustus spluttered, turning away from the sight of the enemy fleet still advancing to the map table. He stabbed a fat finger in the direction of Head Enginseer Rawlins, the leader of the Mechanicum engineers on the ship. "What happened?" he demanded shortly.

"We-we-"the portly Enginseer said in complete disbelief, fumbling over his words as he frantically read through the computer display before him.

Augustus sighed and put his head in his hands. His move there had been a masterstroke of tactical genius- a tried and tested move near guaranteed to work against bunched up enemy fleets. Originally intended for use against Ork 'Armoured Rok' defence formations, the strategy was simple. Open up a gap in the dense formation with nuclear warheads and fire a single Nova Cannon shot into the heart of the enemy fleet. Had it gone to plan, not only would the command ship have been destroyed, but the resulting blast would have been contained within the enemy formation and ripped the entirety of the enemy fleet apart.

"Scanners report that the enemy flagship split itself in two in response to the incoming Nova Cannon shot and then sent an interceptor craft to suicide run into the shell and destroy it- wiping out our entire rear-guard flanking unit in the process."

"It-it was a sound strategy!" Augustus stuttered, sounding unsure of his own words.

"What do we do now sir?" a nearby crewman asked, and the castellan paused, rapping his fingers on the hilt of his sheathed powersword.

"Sir! Scanners are picking something up!" shouted one of the technicians, and the castellan paled, knowing it could be nothing but bad. "The enemy fleet is…its charging us…" he said, his voice low and disbelieving, despite the obvious shape of the fleet on his computer screen.

"Reform the battlelines!" the castellan roared. He wouldn't let one setback stop this battle from being a victory. "Staggered formation, let the orbital defences get themselves in range. And get on the horn to Aurelius Base and the Divine Rampart. We need fire support if we're going to break this enemy!"

000000

It took mere minutes for the fleet to reform themselves, forming up into a less bunched up formation, allowing them to bring more weapons to bear. The orbital defences, having finally managed to use a combination of Siphon IV's orbit and their own thrusters to get into firing positions, began to power up. From the fifty Nova Cannons mounted on asteroids- half of them still covered in scaffolding and orbited by crane barges- to the Lascannons and torpedo launchers on the various small orbital battle stations, the defences seemed solid. And now the dark star shape of the Blackstone Fortress had come around, guarding the eastern flank with its shadowy armoured form, dozens of fighter squadrons spilling out of its hangars. The Divine Rampart was in range now as well, its gun batteries primed and ready.

The Tyranid Hive Fleet however, was completely unfazed by this much more fearsome display of firepower, and instead barrelled straight onwards through the vacuum, the grey blob of Siphon IV growing larger and larger in the connected minds controlling the bio ships.

As the fleet began to split up from its sphere formation, stretching in a thin line of white and purple across the empty expanse of space, it bore down upon the Imperial lines. The ships let off swarm after swarm of Hive Crones and other organic fighters flew out from holes in the sides of the bio ships, advancing quickly and silently on the waiting fleet.

The Imperial's only response, as always, was with a barrage of missiles. This time, with the enemy fleet a mere thousand or so miles from them, the broadside was even more devastating. The high explosive torpedoes and superheated las fire ripped through the fleet, melting through layer after layer of muscle and bony armour, sending thousands of Tyranid war beasts still in stasis tumbling out of breached hulls. Entire ships went up in bright blasts of blue and white as nuclear warheads detonated on their prows, and, silently lining up their targets like ancient gunpowder artillery, the orbital Nova Cannons began to open up. The superheated projectiles punched through entire ships as if they were paper, tearing out their innards before exploding into blinding blasts of bright light. The Blackstone Fortress and Divine Rampart soon entered the fray, their barrage of fire catching the Tyranids in a devastating crossfire. Their las shots and nuclear torpedoes ripped the Tyranid flanks to shreds, the entire eastern flank wiped out in an instant by the thundering broadsides flying out from the Blackstone Fortress' four arms. And yet the fleet kept going.

Despite its fellow ships being ripped in two and melted by atomic fire the Hive Mind's flagship kept going. Now the two fleets were so close the Tyranids own weapons, until then falling woefully short, now began to take their toll. The fleet let off a fusillade of biological projectiles, countless living missiles of flesh and bone flying out. The sinister organic missiles were like nothing the Imperial ships had encountered before. Thousands of the fleshy projectiles flew at the Imperial ships, most of them shot from the sky by the lance point defences and yet, for every ten deflected, another ten found their mark.

When they struck, each missile seemed to have its own horrific surprise. Some smashed against thick armour and disgorged waves of boiling acid-more deadly than any natural equivalent- that burned through metres of iron and steel, easily passing through high tech void shields by how primitive it was, and tearing holes metres wide in the Imperial ships. Whole sections were left open to the vacuum, or vital systems were left exposed for further attack. Other missiles caused near instant growth of sinister plant like growths, growing across the lengths of cruisers in seconds, clogging exhaust pipes or punching through weakened spots and into the main body of the ship. Hundreds of Imperial crew and marines found themselves battling against the strange plants that burrowed through their ships, crushing men beneath their vines or disgorging acid and sap to burn and suffocate whole sections of the ships.

By now the Tyranid flying creatures, those that had made it through the barrage of fire and the deadly point defences, began swarming the Imperial ships. Though hundreds were blasted off by auto turrets the Hive Crones kept coming, smashing into vital exposed parts until they broke or clogging gun batteries with so many burnt bodies that they couldn't fire anymore.

It was then, with half the Battlefleet fighting their own battles or so damaged they couldn't stay in the fight, that the Hive Ship made its own bold move. The massive ship rushed straight towards the Imperial gunline, surrounded by swarms of countless Hive Crones and smaller ships. The few ships left unharmed by the Tyranid assault opened fire, but their shots went wild or were wasted by the swarms of Hive Crones plunging straight in the path of the torpedoes, sacrificing themselves to save the Hive Ship.

The Blackstone Fortress let off a punishing broadside, over two hundred torpedoes streaking straight towards the Hive Ship, while las cannon shots cleared a path. The Hive Ship kept on its course, even as the _Hand of the Emperor_, not wanting to risk firing its Nova Cannon at such close range, let off its own thundering fusillade. Suddenly, just as the dozens of Imperial torpedoes reached the Hive Ship, it released a cloud of large spores, each the size of a tank.

Their guidance systems confused and their gunners trying to piece together what had just happened, the Imperial broadside broke upon the spore cloud, missiles going wildly off course and detonating on the spores, leaving the Hive Ship-once more- completely unscathed.

000000

"The enemy flagship is unharmed!" bawled the Gunnery Chief, but Augustus ignored him. The Hive Ship was so close now he could pick out every detail as he looked out of the bridges main window. Its tentacled form was on a direct course with them, a few lucky missiles that had got through merely exploding harmlessly off its fleshy sides.

"It's coming to ram!" came another voice, this one screeching and panicked, and the Castellan, for a few terrifying seconds, didn't have any idea what to do as the enemy ship grew larger and larger in the main window.

"Fire everything we have!" the castellan roared, pointing defiantly out at the Hive Ship. "Bring that thing down!"

As he said this and another broadside thundered out-instantly being rendered useless by the cloud of spore defences, a silver and green blur appeared on their right flank, and the castellan felt a sense of relief. It was the Defiant class heavy cruiser _Black Lancer_ -a large ship designed with a heavily armoured prow and huge engines for one purpose. Ramming.

The _Black Lancer_ descended like a thunderbolt towards the Hive Ship, its point defence already overwhelmed as nightmarish swarms of Tyranid beasts flew at it, grabbing onto its hull and tearing into it. The ship didn't stop, even as acid missiles broke on its sides and a breach erupted in its left side, venting oxygen into open space.

"Come on!" someone on the bridge shouted, and the castellan couldn't help but share the crewman's optimism. He had seen ships like that ram straight through an armoured Chaos battleship, seen them wreathed in fire and venting atmosphere only to deliver a knockout punch to an enemy capital ship.

The _Black Lancer_ flew even faster, its engines burning a bright blue as it dodged a flurry of organic missiles and soared straight towards the now vulnerable Hive Ship.

And then, just as it came barely a hundred metres away from rupturing the Hive Ship, a huge tentacle, a purple slaver of writhing flesh, swung at it and, in one swipe, ripped the noble ship in half and hurled it away.

"No…" Augustus said softly as the Hive Ship kept coming. "It can't…no…"

"Brace for impact!" bellowed a voice, and the castellan grabbed tight onto the command platform as the Hive Ship came straight at them.

With a grinding screech of metal and roar of iron buckling, the entire bridge shifted sharply to the right at a crazy angle as outside the Hive Ship smashed past the _Hand of the Emperor, _shoving the venerable warship aside as if it was a mere annoyance in its path.

A few futile blasts of white light raked across the Hive Ship, the few lance point defences along the battleship whose crews weren't dead or stunned firing off despite their obvious uselessness. The Tyranid flagship still continued on, its tentacles scraping along the battleship's hull, ripping off armour plating and smashing whole gun decks before, with one last attack from the claws at its aft, which ripped apart the might battleship's starboard engines, the Tyranid Hive Ship continued on. As it passed by the Hand of the Emperor, it roared on even faster, smashing aside a defiant Lunar Class cruiser with one swipe of its tentacles.

Augustus picked himself up from the console he had been thrown into, looking out through bleary eyes across the command bridge. All around him crewmen were picking themselves up, many with blood streaming from gashes and wounds across their faces. A few weren't moving at all. Already medical teams in white and damage control enginseers in red rushed about, while a few powerless looking Marines threw aside their lasguns and ran to try and help their dazed comrades.

"Damage report!" the castellan shouted, wanting to know how much he had wrecked the Lord Castellan's prize ship. He had only been here because duty on the _Divine Rampart_ was so boring. Now he wished that old boredom would come back and replace this throbbing pain in his head. "Damn…" he muttered as he saw most of the damage control team were motionless by their consoles, or thrown into poses that no healthy human body should be able to do. He tried calling for Enginseer Rawlins, but the man was lying motionless across the room, his neck at an angle and his spine shattered.

"Sir!" spluttered Lieutenant Irina, blood flowing freely down her face from a painful looking head wound and splashing on the console she was sprawled against. "Scanners indicate the enemy flagship has broken through the blockade and…is heading for Siphon IV's surface."

Augusts stumbled over and looked for himself, his eyes widened as he saw what was happening on the large view screen.

The Tyranid Hive Ship, having smashed through the Imperial Navy blockade, was now making haste towards the planet beyond, easily swatting aside the few intact orbital defences that weren't overrun with Hive Crones or coated in acid.

"Does this...?" the lieutenant began, but the castellan cut her off.

"The enemy are about to make landfall! Patch us through to the Lord Castellan now! We need to mobilise the Guard regiments and Planetary Defence Forces! We are not losing this world to these monsters!"

"What about us sir?" asked a nearby Marine with blood spattered across his flak armour.

The Castellan smiled grimly.

"Us? We're going to chase this monster down. Bring the ship around and ready for atmospheric combat!"


End file.
